Dæmon AU: Eternity in an Hour
Read here on AO3 for notes.
“All things considered, I think that went rather well,” Peter commented as he shrugged off the Dark Matters uniform in the small cabin aboard a ship which looked like it had never had the better days, only slightly less-rusty ones. It was the type of ship where they didn’t keep records and they didn’t ask questions, which was exactly what Peter Nureyev needed.
“Rather well?” repeated Nāsiria disdainfully, “That whole thing was a complete mess and you know it.” She brushed up against the wall, trying to remove the rest of the dark paint that had disguised her true form. “Oh, I don’t know about 'complete mess,'” Peter countered cheerfully, “We got the Mask, didn’t we?”
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a complete screw-up,” Nāsiria grumbled, jumping up onto the small bunk and curling up beside Peter’s bag. “It was certainly more interesting than normal.” “Interesting is one way to put it. First, someone walks in on us stealing the mask – you’re an idiot, by the way, – and their family drama means they literally die violently in the exact thing we planned to steal. Then we have to get involved with Dark Matters, and some random guy who the Kanagawa's had a vendetta against, which is exactly what we shouldn’t do. We should be flying under the radar, remember?”
Her tone was accusatory and Peter rolled his eyes as he unclasped the earrings he’d been wearing. “Now, it wasn’t exactly a vendetta against Juno. It was a- well, I’m not sure what Cecil Kanagawa was trying to do,” he mused.
“Don’t try and change the subject by being pedantic.” Nāsiria rolled her eyes at her human, as best as a small fox could. “It doesn’t make any difference what he was trying to do. Because what he nearly did was broadcast our faces across the galaxy. Broadcast us dying across the galaxy. Remember that?” “But we escaped!” “Barely. And then we ended up getting that poor girl in prison.” “I can’t help their family drama. And she was a murderer, Nās, don’t forget that.” “You know it isn’t that simple,” Nāsiria said, jumping off the bed to curl round Peter’s legs, hackles raised slightly, “And I know you feel as bad about it as I do. No point lying to me, remember?”
Peter sighed and stepped over Nāsiria, still disguised rather effectively as an Australian Cattle Dog rather than a fox. “Okay. That was a shame.” He dropped his head and grimaced. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt, and she seemed like a decent- if strange- sort. But that can’t be helped, it was just circumstance.” “Sometimes I think without me, you’d forget about having a moral compass all together,” Nāsiria scolded, stepping away with her nose in the air. Peter rolled his eyes. “Well it’s lucky I’ve got you isn’t it. Though sometimes I think without you, I wouldn’t have anyone berating me endlessly. That would be rather nice. You’re beginning to sound a bit like Mag.” “Well maybe that’s what you need,” Nāsiria snapped, “He’d never let you be this careless with yourself or a case, and you know it!”
Peter fell silent for a long moment, staring intently at the complex buckles of the case which held the monstrous Death Mask of Grimpoteuthis. He had figured them out before the case even began but he refused to look down at the fox by his feet. Eventually, she sighed. “I’m sorry. I know-” “It’s fine,” said Nureyev, cutting her off, “We don’t need to go digging up things that are long-buried. Look at where that got the Kanagawas.”
To his relief, his daemon gave a slight, hesitant laugh. She hated fighting with him as much as he did, and there was a silent apology in the way she curled up at his feet as he dropped onto the bunk. It was almost as hard as the floor but fewer Roaches would get there, and it had the luxury of a blanket. The cabin seemed to shake itself apart around them, exiting the atmosphere on the way to the dark side of the further Martian moon, Deimos. It would be a bumpy night, but Peter Nureyev was used to discomfort, and Nāsiria would keep the worst of the Roaches away.
“Just one more night, and we’re done with this whole Martian business,” Peter said eventually, curling his fingers into Nāsiria’s fur, still an unnatural charcoal colour rather than her natural red-gold shade. “Are we?” She looked up at him with dark piercing eyes, ears twitching. Foxes didn’t have eyebrows to raise questioningly, but she managed to school her expression into a passable replica. “Yes,” Peter said quietly, dropping his gaze, “Yes, we are.”
“You gave him your name,” Nāsiria pointed out, her voice soft and careful now, “What does that mean for us? What if he reports us, and New Kinshasa – or the whole of the Outer Rim- comes looking? We need that anonymity, Peter.” “Juno wouldn’t do that,” Peter insisted quietly. “We can’t know that,” Nāsiria pointed out, “I mean, he’s surprised us at every turn. Do we really know anything about Juno Steel?”
Peter couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face at that. It was true; Juno Steel had managed to trounce his expectations at every turn. He’d been fascinated by the idea of him since before they met; his initial, brief research had shown him a talented, yet mysteriously disgraced police-officer-turned-PI who Dark Matters and the Kanagawas were willing to work with, who had been left a death threat by a violent, ancient ghost. That alone had left him with a million questions, only some of which had been answered; what did a cop have to do in the notoriously corrupt HYPD to get kicked out, what sort of name was Juno Steel, what kind of life do you have to lead to get both Dark Matters and the galaxy’s biggest crime family wanting to work with you?
Meeting him had left Peter Nureyev with even more mysteries. The man hadn’t been flattered at all by the sycophantic character of Rex Glass; he was cynical and self-deprecating - yet also protective of his secretary, surprisingly kind and familiar with Cassandra during his interrogation, and obviously intelligent. Peter had underestimated how much though, and Juno had let him.
His dæmon had been interesting; a large, black dog that had stayed silent and proud throughout most of the case, standing beside Juno and sniffing around the crime scene with barely a glance towards Nāsiria, who had followed them about, acting like a dim puppy. Dog Dæmons were common – especially in police or any kind of service job - and rarely encouraged attention. That was why Peter hadn’t paid Anatolia much attention until they had brutally torn the throat from a cameraman. They had pinned Cecil’s dæmon, a flashy but sharp-clawed peacock, to the ground, their vicious teeth showing as they snarled furiously, snapping and clawing at the suddenly-scrawny bird’s throat. Only then, had Peter realised with a start that Anatolia was, in fact, a large wolf, not a dog at all but more wild and independent and clever, and that he’d underestimated Juno.
Juno hadn’t made the same mistake – and that had been another surprise on Peter’s part. He was used to not being noticed or questioned and he slipped easily into the role of an enthusiastic and smart, but predictable, Dark Matter Agent. Civil Servants were easy, and Rex Glass had the added bonus of being extremely charming and flirtatious – to the point that no one looked twice with a critical eye.
But Juno had. He had several times, and so had Anatolia apparently. She’d smelt that the small dog beside Peter wasn’t just a dog - a canine, yes, but not a dog - and Juno had spotted the brush of gray dye left on the whitewashed walls of the Creosus Kanagawa’s Showroom. Anatolia had overheard Peter call Nāsiria by her own name, not the name that Rex Glass’s dæmon had. And Juno had seen past the flirting, and the blood-splatters on the glass, and figured out that Peter Nureyev had been after the Mask all along and had tricked everyone from Dark Matters to the Kanagawas to Rita. Then Juno had tricked Peter Nureyev right back, and that was intoxicating – more so even than defying every expectation Peter had formed of the Detective.
“I can’t believe you fell for the first pretty face that batted his eyelashes at you,” Nāsiria scolded, but her voice was softer, “It’s been years, and you never told anyone your name.” “Well, it was time for a change,” Peter replied, swinging himself onto the bunk. The engine made the rickety metal walls shake around him, and the ship was filled with the sound soft the crew and other passengers going about their loud and messy lives. But he would be left alone on a ship like this – just him and Nāsiria, as it had been for so long. As it had been ever since Mag. As it had been until Juno that was.
“He wasn’t just a pretty face, and you know it,” Peter chided gently as Nāsiria settled onto his chest, curling into a heavy, grounding weight. She hummed and the vibrations moved through his chest, different from the constant rattling vibrations of the ship “I’ve seen a lot of pretty faces but this was different, you know that. This was-” He trailed off, lost for words. This was matching wits with someone who understood him, this was being caught out, this was finding someone who understood him, someone he couldn’t deceive- someone that he had to tell the truth to. Someone so intense, who burned so brightly- ready to burn out at any moment- that it was overwhelming. Someone you couldn’t feel alone beside.
Juno made Peter feel less alone, despite the Detective’s self-imposed isolation. Peter wondered if he had chipped away at those walls at all – let alone as much as Juno had destabilized his.
“You’re in love,” Nāsiria muttered accusatorily. Peter rolled his eyes at the alarmingly-battered ceiling above. He did hope that the gravity generator wouldn’t give out during the night; sudden weightlessness was never as much fun as planet-bound people imagined. “It’s not even been a Martian Sol- since you met him! And you’re completely gone on this man, Pete. We’re screwed.” “It’s definitely been at least a couple of Jupiterian Days,” Peter remarked absently, running his fingers through his dæmon’s soft fur, “And I saw you Nās. You’re just as stupid as I am.”
He’d only seen them briefly, as his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into Juno, pressed up against the detective’s table. Before the snap of handcuffs, before he begged him to come on an adventure with him, but still too-heady a kiss for someone supposed be flying under the radar. He should have never gone back to Juno’s in the first place, never have offered that one night where life could wait. It had been risky, and it could have been his downfall if he hadn’t had so many contingency plans.
In that moment, as he went to kiss Juno, before he’d closed his eyes – that in itself was unusual; a position he couldn’t get out of, not on the look-out – he’d seen Nāsiria brush up against Anatolia, curling around them as the wolf ducked their head. It was the type of terrifying intimacy that they could never fake, as Nāsiria had stepped recklessly close to Juno’s dæmon connecting more deeply than he’d connected with anyone since Mag- and differently. That’s when he’d known that he would end up telling Juno Steel his name, throwing caution to the wind as Juno Steel and Anatolia seemed to make him do want to do constantly.
As he drifted into sleep, Nāsiria breathing deeply on his chest- insane and terrifying scenes from the Kanagawa mansion dancing through their shared subconscious dreams, alongside the burning sky of the Martian sunset and Juno, running fearlessly beside his wolf dæmon - Peter Nureyev could not bring himself to regret it one bit.